


The 16:23 to London

by Konfessor2U



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And his voice, Barebacking, Biting, Boys Kissing, Coming Untouched, Cuddling, DAMN Sherlock's mouth, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Friends to Lovers, Keeping warm, Licking, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Slash, Nipple Play, Poor John is shy, Pre-Slash, Sentimental Sherlock, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being a Tease, Shower Sex, Smut, Taking the bus back to Baker Street?, Teasing, sex by the fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konfessor2U/pseuds/Konfessor2U
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are stranded in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus back to London. In the cold. In the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting Caught in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I see a couple cuddling at the bus stop. I see them. Everywhere.

John's phone was completely smashed to pieces and now the tiny shards of touch screen were scattered somewhere amongst the gravel of a roughly paved country road. Sherlock neglected to even grab his phone from the table as they ran from the flat with utmost haste to pursue a suspect they'd been tracking for over a month. A tip from a boy in Sherlock's homeless network set them off in the right direction. John was always amazed by their loyalty, but then again, a look at his own behaviour around Sherlock was a reminder that he would do anything for Sherlock.  _Anything_.

A London cabbie had reluctantly driven them out to the relatively deserted area where the suspect was last seen. In the end, the middle-aged, heavy weight, balding cab driver couldn't turn down the money from such a long trip but quickly turned tail and left the two behind as soon as they ran off down the road.

With no way to call for a cab back to Baker Street and stuck out in the middle of nowhere, they were left to wait for the next bus, if there was even a next bus to come.

It was biting cold, windy and raining; of course it was raining. The scratched and graffiti-covered Plexiglass walls of the bus stop did nothing to break the gust of wind and rain soaking them and ruffling their hair. Shivering, John had his coat buttoned up tight with his collar up and his hands shoved deep into the pockets. Sherlock, looked unperturbed by the chilly weather, his scarf artfully wrapped around his neck, it's donning a perfected act making him look smartly dressed every time.

The timetable posted said that bus was to come anytime now and John, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet, stuck his head out to look down the road. No bus. He sighed heavily, his breath puffing out in a swirling fog in front of him. The day was a disappointment overall. They didn't catch the perpetrator. And now they had to wait outside in the cold rain for the bus for who knows how long.

"John." The deep thrum of Sherlock's voice always made John shiver and this time was no different. He was unable to stave the visible shudder that ran through his body; he knew Sherlock saw it. John could tell that Sherlock was sorry for the situation they were in, a sentiment that he only showed to him; the rest of the world was not privy to Sherlock's emotions. He didn't turn toward the detective but kept looking forward, his lips a thin, hard line. He was mad, he couldn't deny that, and he just wanted to be home and warm and comfortable. The turmoil of the argument in his head was making him feel guilty; it wasn't Sherlock's fault after all, he shouldn't be mad at him.

Breaking, he took his hands out of his pockets and blew into them and rubbing them together to warm up and turned to look at the other man. "Yeah? Right. It's fine, Sherlock." John thought that would be an appropriate response considering the circumstances. He turned forward again with another peak down the road only to see no sign of a bus, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

The immediate warmth at his back told him that Sherlock stepped closer. Very close. What came next thoroughly startled him making him feel like a young colt in the training arena. Sherlock's long fingers traced down his arms from his shoulders to his fingertips and wiggled their way into John's pockets, settling in over John's hands.

Instantly, John's shooting jacket felt like entirely too much fabric for the weather and he itched to take it off of his burning hot skin. He knew his face was an obscenely dark shade of red and wild black curls tickled his ear causing him to tilt his head away.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?" John could feel the vibrations of the grumble on the back of his neck and it pleasantly traveled down his spine.

"Why are your hands in my pockets?" The hands resting on his own squeezed lightly before their owner answered.

"You were cold." The response was as Sherlockian as any ever could be; simply stated as if there was no other way to explain it, and the tone implying that it should have been obvious to John.

John rolled his eyes in reply. He tried to remove his hands, as well as his friend's, from his pockets but Sherlock wouldn't have it. "Really Sherlock, there's no need to-"

"And I also wouldn't have been able to do this."

"Do what? What do—aaah." Hot lips closed on the shell of John's ear, sucking the flesh causing him to go weak in the knees. Sherlock tightened his arms around him to support him.

"Steady, John." He nipped gently and sucked at the skin just below his flat mate's ear, enjoying the fact that he wasn't being pushed away and that it caused John to gasp quietly and tilt his head to expose more of his neck. The suspect may have slipped away from them today leaving them both tired and irritated, but Sherlock was feeling aroused and insanely bold despite the situation. He often felt like that after an intense chase but this was the first time he ever made a move on John.

"When we get home, I'm going to strip you out of these cold, wet clothes." Sherlock's breath was hot in his ear and John didn't dare turn his face to look at him. Instead, he closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto Sherlock's shoulder, whining quietly. "I'll slowly peel them off your body one by one until you are completely naked in front of me. I'll lay you down near the fire and learn what exactly makes John Watson tremble."

 _Doesn't take much, clearly,_  John thought to himself. It was all he could do to keep himself steady. He heard the bus pull up and he mentally thanked the driver for his timely arrival. Without a glance back at Sherlock, John shyly fumbled for change and purchased two single tickets back to London and chose a seat on the isle forcing his flat mate to sit across the aisle, giving him space and time to think.


	2. We Need to Get You Out of These Wet Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are finally home after a long suspect chase in the freezing rain and an awkward encounter while waiting for the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN!!! 
> 
> You all asked for another chapter and what can I say, I deliver. I hope you are happy.
> 
> ;)

Usually, Mrs. Hudson, despite all of her claims about _not_ being their housekeeper, would come up to 221B and light a fire in the hearth to take the chill out the room, especially on cold, wet days. She must’ve been out because John felt no significant difference from the outside when stepping into the flat, minus the wind and rain, of course.  A look to the fire place confirmed that she indeed hadn’t been by.

John eased out of his shooting jacket and reached to hang it on the hook. He froze still, halfway to the coat rack, when he heard the door click shut and the lock slide into place. They never locked the door to the sitting room.

Recalling Sherlock’s promises for when they got home, John slowly finished hanging his coat while cautiously watching Sherlock shed his own great big coat and blue scarf. The detective didn’t look at John as he passed to go straight to the fireplace, where he began building a pile of wood that promised a large roaring fire.

_Oh God, he meant it._

Although his trousers were soaked through and cold rain had seeped into his shirt from the collar of his jacket, he suddenly felt hot and nervous. The prospect of becoming intimate with Sherlock was embarrassing, daunting and seemed entirely unreal, like a dream moving in slow motion, blurred at the edges. A dream he had but never imagined that he would live.

Once the fire was properly lit, Sherlock continued to not pay any mind to John who had shuffled dumbly to the center of the sitting room, eyeing his flat mate as he stalked off down the hall to the bathroom. He heard the shower start up and sighed, relieved that he had a bit longer to think if Sherlock was going to take a shower.

Before he could sit down in his chair, Sherlock was at his back again, close. John couldn’t ignore that without the coats, they were much closer, almost touching, and the heat coming from Sherlock was overwhelming. His head swam.

Warm breath tickled the back of his neck which made his skin tingle and every hair on his body stand on end.

Sherlock gently turned him around to face him with hands on John’s hips, and John turned easily but kept his eyes on a particularly interesting speck of mud on the floor. _Perhaps I’ll clean the flat later after tea so Mrs. Hudson doesn’t have to. She always complains about doing the housework for us._ John felt guilty most days and offered to help her tidy but she always shooed him away.He noticed another stain on the area rug which could only be from the tea he spilled last week when one of Sherlock’s experiments exploded in the kitchen.

“John,” Sherlock said firmly, bringing him out of his thoughts, the only thing protecting him from what was coming. He looked up at Sherlock but couldn’t look him in the eye and instead settled for the empty space next to his ear, hoping that he could fight the blush rising in his cheeks.

“Sherlock,” John said, using the same tone to rebut. He was nervous as hell, but he’d be damned if he’d let it show now. When he finally found the courage to look his flat mate in the eye, he was rewarded with the most brilliant, wide, genuine smile that Sherlock Holmes had ever smiled. The display was contagious and John’s own lips curled into a giddy little grin. _I love the way his eyes crinkle around the outer edges when he smiles, he should smile more often._

Sherlock leaned in and placed one soft kiss on John’s mouth to test the waters between them. John didn’t pull away but only grinned wider against his friend’s lips before giving him a quick kiss back, not delving any further than that. Sherlock’s grip had now loosened on John’s hip bones, whereas before he had been worried John would turn and run for the hills. Truth be told, John didn’t want to run, he wanted to stay. John was afraid of what this would become, whether it would ruin them, ruin him.

Sherlock tugged John along behind him by the hand. “Come, John. We need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

John had to swallow a barking laugh at that. It had to be the cheesiest excuse to get naked that he had ever heard, never mind the fact that it was true, and Sherlock was most likely unaware of socialities like pick-up lines, so he spared him the laughter and followed Sherlock anyway.

Immediately, his jumper was pulled over his head, a bit roughly but he didn’t mind. John was in a daze and grinning stupidly, the skip of Sherlock fingers from button to button as he undressed him gently nudged at his chest. He was guided to step into the spray of the hot shower when Sherlock was done with him, where he could only watched the man hastily remove his suit and leave it in a heaping mass on the tile floor. The way he undressed John was so slow, calculated, almost clinical, but he tore off his own clothing as if they were burning his flesh.

John shifted closer to the shower head for Sherlock to stand under the water. Sherlock took advantage of the wall at John’s rear, pressing him against the cold tiles, pulling a sharp gasp from his lungs. His shock didn’t last long though, as their lips came together in a slow, sweet caress. By now, John was _sure_ he was dreaming, but he figured that he would just go with whatever was unfolding just now and wake up happy in the morning.

John yielded to Sherlock’s tongue, moaning as it tickled the roof of his mouth just behind his teeth. Hands on either side of his head held him close, as if he had anywhere to go or even wanted to, and his own hands were resting on Sherlock’s chest where they could feel the dull thump of his heart. One last tantalizing dip his tongue into John’s mouth and Sherlock moved away to pull the doctor to him in a bone crushing hug.

They stood embracing while Sherlock murmured into John’s ear about how much he’d yearned for this, and how long he’d been waiting to tell John. He listened to the confessions and answered in kind by nibbling and kissing Sherlock's clavicle.

“What is this _really_ , Sherlock? I thought you were 'married' to your work.” John said cautiously, not wanting Sherlock to think that he wasn’t interested. Oh, was he interested.

“Mmmm,” Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck, kissing where it joined with his shoulder. “You are my work, most days.” John felt the lips on his neck shape into a smile. “And what about you Dr. Watson? What ever happened to being ‘not-gay’?”

John’s response was cut off with a yelp elicited by a sharp nip to the smooth skin of his neck. He was about to protest and push the man away, but when luscious lips closed around the purple mark and started to suck, he instantly became pliant, like putty in Sherlock’s hands. His back lay against the wall and Sherlock had to wrap an arm around his waist just to keep him standing.

A small noise escaped John’s throat unwillingly but he could not have cared any less with Sherlock’s wet, skillful mouth on him, slowly inching down toward an erection that ached more than any he could ever remember having.

Sherlock sucked lightly at the head his cock, causing his head to drop back against the tile with a thud. As more and more of him was swallowed, his head lolled from side to side, his eyes squeezed shut, and damn, could Sherlock take the whole of him. No one had ever done that before, instead his dates usually preferred to keep a hand at his base and only pay attention to the tip, which was disappointing to say the least.

The heat surrounding him now was glorious, better than anything to touch him, ever. _Of course Sherlock Holmes excelled in fellating cock, why wouldn’t he when he excelled at everything else? The damned prat._

Unfortunately, Sherlock’s mouth was gone faster than it had descended and he suddenly wanted to come in that mouth, hard. John reached out to grasp that curly black hair and pull him back in but was intercepted, wrists caught in a vice like grip in Sherlock's long, pale fingers. The detective clicked his tongue at John’s behavior, grinning massively, and forced him to turn away from him, placing their hands on the wall, Sherlock's covering John’s, his mouth again pressing lightly to his neck.

John would be lying if he said that he didn’t push back again Sherlock’s erection, so prominent and absolutely demanding to make itself known to him. He keened at the wet slide of it between his cheeks, and that was ultimately the end of his resolve.

“Sherlock… please…” His forehead rested on the tile and he wiggled his hips slightly, teasing.

Sherlock slid his hands all the way from the wall, down John’s arms, traced his sides and came to rest cupping the doctor's ridiculously full arse.

He leaned in close to John’s ear. “What makes John Watson tremble?” He asked with a cheeky grin while sliding a slick finger down into the man’s arse crack, stroking lightly over his tight hole which twitched in response.

_Jesus, fuck, that. That does. Please._

John pleaded silently, pushing into Sherlock’s hand only for it to be pulled away again, causing him to growl with impatience. Growl and beg.

“Please.” He hated the sound of his own voice just then, but hell, he was about to be fucked by Sherlock, did he really care all that much?

“Had I known that this was going to be so easy,” Sherlock circled his finger around John’s entrance again, “I’d have done this ages ago.” Leaning one palm on the wall beside John’s hands, he brought his fingers to his mouth, slicking them up with saliva before slowly pushing one into John, enjoying the way his whole body tensed but quickly relaxed, sagging into the wall, his body willing him to push further.

“Are you calling me,” he groaned loudly as Sherlock added another finger, wetly pressing into him, stretching him open, “easy?” Sherlock only chuckled, twisting his fingers at the same time.

Kisses, tiny licks and bites were scattered all across John’s neck and shoulders, Sherlock's mouth paying homage to the body he’d had his eye on for so long. John attempted to reach back and stroke his flat mate but his hand was forced back to the wall, that deep voice in his ear, tremors emitting from the deepest parts of him, proliferating and expanding all over.

“No, John, I was simply implying that you wanted this too, very much it seems.” As proof, a singular quick stroke of John’s painfully hard cock was all it took to distract him from adding a third finger. The man practically sobbed at finally having some friction where it mattered.

Sherlock hummed in pleasure as he worked John open. John, whose cock was steadily leaking precum onto the shower floor was panting and moaning, flexing and relaxing his torso muscles, and damn fucking close to peaking.

“I’m going to fuck you John Watson.” He paused to feel John’s body shudder and his arse tighten beautifully on his fingers. “Would you like that, Doctor?”

“Ye—aaah!!!” Just as John was about to answer, Sherlock dragged the pads of his fingers across John’s prostate. “Yes, yes, yes, please.” John slammed his fist on the tile next to his head, frustrated that he was so easily manipulated but at same time, wished to be nowhere else at the moment.

Sherlock didn’t fuck him as promised. He only continued thrusting his fingers into John relentlessly, bringing him to climax without touching his cock at all. John’s moans and cries melded into a sort of hysterical laughter, driven by the mad absurdity of their situation.

“Jesus…” John breathed, eyes shut tight, desperately trying to collect himself, trying to pick up the pieces after the most intense orgasm he had ever had.

Sherlock gently removed his fingers and began washing himself innocently, sneaking in a quick tug on his cock along the way. Remembering where he was, John turned to his flat mate and pointed an accusing finger at him. “That is _not_ fair, Sherlock.” He paused a moment, considering, “What about you?” He indicated Sherlock’s rather obvious arousal.

John swiped the body wash from the shelf and lathered himself up, greatly enjoying the sight of Sherlock touching himself, stroking his length lazily, sharp eyes on John's face. They grinned at each other, feeling like devious school boys, sneaking around after lights-out.

“I’m not even close to being done with you John, trust me.” Sherlock stepped from the shower drying off quickly and rubbing the towel in his long, shaggy hair. “Not ‘not-gay’ suits you.” He said with an easy smile.

“Uh, thanks.” It was an odd compliment to receive but John wasn’t about to turn away a compliment from Sherlock Holmes. As he turned off the shower, he felt himself being wrapped up in a huge fluffy towel, his arms trapped underneath against his body.

Sherlock ravaged his mouth, passionately searching, licking for the areas that earned the loudest moan from the doctor. Both of Sherlock’s hands cradled John's face making him feel like the most precious thing in the world. Another tiny sound escaped his throat, desperate and keen and when they pulled away, John fixed his flat mate with a stare that borderlined being worthy of being called “Holmesian”. With this look, he tried to convey without words, in true Sherlockian fashion, “Please, I am yours. Please, take me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you see, the "sex by the fireplace" achievement has not yet been unlocked, so there will be one more chapter. Stick around.


	3. What Makes John Watson Tremble?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets John in front of the fire, as promised.

Down the hallway, through the kitchen, and across the sitting room, Sherlock simply could not keep his hands off of John’s body. A kiss on his shoulder, on his neck, fingers at the low curve of his back guiding him, it was all the two of them could do to not trip over each other on the way out of the bathroom.

They finally came to stop in front of the fireplace, kissing each other softly, the burning heat spreading slowly from every point where they touched. In addition to their own steadily rising body heat, the fire beside them was now roaring, just as the massive stack of wood that Sherlock piled in earlier had promised. They were both completely naked, their fronts still slightly damp and pressed together and although they had suffered a chill in transit to the fireplace, neither of them were even a tiny bit cold now.

Sherlock pulled away from John’s lips and smoothed a hand over his spiky wet hair, enjoying its adorable chaos without any hair product in. His sharp eyes softened a bit while scanning over John’s features, taking in his wide, deep blue eyes, usually so open and expressive, now relaxed and heavy lidded with desire. He allowed himself a small smile, _how the hell did I get this lucky?_

Sherlock guided them down to the floor until they were both on the rug in front of the hearth, John on his back and Sherlock kneeling in between his thighs. The detective sat back on his heels and simply stared in wonder at his flat mate, his brave, wonderful, danger-loving flat mate, and mused at how bloody perfect he was. John would argue against it, but he was fit, built tight and compact. Evidence of living a slightly slower and more indulgent civilian life barely touched his rigorously Army trained body and Sherlock was certainly enjoying the view.

The passion from their session in the shower faded leaving John feeling exposed and anxious under Sherlock’s gaze and he moved to cover himself with his hands. It was absurd feeling shy considering what they had just done in the shower. John knew the power of Sherlock’s eyes, how they could completely undress you regardless of how many layers you had on, and now, without the protection of his jumpers, he felt as if he’d burn up, the flush spreading down his neck and chest.

Noticing John’s discomfort, Sherlock relaxed his gaze, breaking away from the intense study of his flat mate. He laid his hands on the legs on either side of his own, squeezing gently, encouragingly.

“Please, John, I want to see you. All of you.” He confessed, opting for the less aggressive approach compared to the hot and heavy moments in the shower. Forcing his friend against the tiles worked once but Sherlock wanted to take his time to memorise every line of John’s body.

John took a giant breath and released it slowly while nodding his approval. It did seem a bit silly to be bashful about being seen naked now, it was a tad late for that. He moved his hands, placing them on the floor next him.

“Oh, John, thank you.” Long fingers trailed up the front of John’s thighs, over his hip bones and waist. They brushed his nipples in passing drawing out a delicious shudder. Sherlock held himself over John with one hand and traced along his jawline with the other, bringing their lips together in a brief kiss. “I promise that you will never regret allowing me this. Nor will you ever have to feel self-conscious around me again. You are gorgeous, simply exquisite, and I want you, to just look at you forever.” Sherlock placed tiny kisses to the corners of John’s upturned mouth and to his eyes and forehead, showering him with affection beyond anything he thought the man capable of.

His words were hot against John’s lips and they were so full of meaning that John very much wanted to cry. Sherlock Holmes, who until this day John thought to be completely devoid of love, much less sexual thoughts, was telling him he was gorgeous. His head swam with the implications of what Sherlock was saying.

“I’m here, Sherlock,” John fisted his hands into Sherlock’s curls. “I right here, I’m yours, I always have been, damn it. Since the first day, you had me.”

The emotions were overwhelming and he could see that Sherlock was also greatly affected by their sudden closeness. He could see that mind behind those sharp gray/green eyes turning, trying to process the novel sensory input. John sought to distract that mind by snogging Sherlock, tongue thrusting hard and desperate against his, sliding wetly across his lips. It felt as if he was pouring his entire soul into this kiss with Sherlock, but he was receiving just as much as he was giving, an equivalent exchange of sentiment, each leaving behind a small piece of themselves.

Sherlock growled impatiently after the kiss has lasted a long while and moved his lips to John's neck to make a new love bite in the stubbly skin there, extracting a stuttering moan. A hand reached down to wrap light fingers around John’s erection, stroking him languidly back to hardness as his lips, teeth and tongue explored every inch of John’s torso. Methodically, he catalogued each little detail, noting with each administration the reaction that went with it.

 

_ Things that made John Watson gasp: _

_-Sucking on his clavicle._

_-Licking the hollow depression at the base of his neck._

_-Tracing each rib with a finger or tongue._

_-Nibbling at his sides, especially his waistline._

_-Blowing cool air over his nipples. Lick first, then blow._

_-Dipping a tongue into his navel._

_ Things that made John Watson moan: _

_-Biting anywhere on his neck. Sucking magnifies the response._

_-Touching, licking, or sucking his nipples._

_-Licking along his hipbones. The wetter the lick, the more intense his response is._

_ Things that make John Watson tremble: _

_-Teeth on his nipples. Tug slightly._

_-Slowly licking the skin at the exact point where his leg meets his body._

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John Watson was indeed shaking with raw need under him, fists balled up beside him in sweet, sweet agony. His feet lay flat on the floor, allowing his waxing erection to thrust up into Sherlock’s hand. “Please…” He was vaguely aware of begging but wasn’t sure what he _wanted_ , he instead trusted his best friend to know exactly what he _needed_.

“Shhhh… steady, John, I’ve got you.” Sherlock stopped stroking him but continued licking that spot at the top of his leg that resulted in a full body shudder every time, enjoying the way that it made John's cock twitch simultaneously. His own cock pulsed sympathetically, but he ignored it for the time being.

When nudged John’s legs wider apart, he found them to be completely lax and seemingly boneless. Grinning devilishly, Sherlock immediately saw the advantage of such a relaxed state and drew John’s legs up all the way to his chest, knees spread a little so he could look him in the face as he sank a finger into John’s arse.

With his free hand, Sherlock reached for a bottle of lube that was placed in a suspiciously convenient location and John felt the cool liquid drizzle down his crack and over Sherlock’s slim finger making the slide inside him oh so smooth. Anal fingering was added to the detective’s running tally of “things that make John Watson moan”.

Patiently and carefully, Sherlock worked back up to opening John with three fingers. “Yes, John, open up for me. Will you do that for me? Let me in, so I can fuck this pretty arse of yours.” His voice thrummed low and vibrated on the inside of John’s thigh where his lips rested. He very lightly stroked John’s prostate, causing the man’s hips to jerk upward erratically and Sherlock promptly added prostate massage to the “things that make John Watson tremble” list.

“Sherlock, when you talk like that, how could I ever deny you?” John then focused on his breathing, keeping calm and relaxed as much as possible, feeling Sherlock press deeper before pulling his fingers out agonizingly slow.

“God, John. You should see yourself trying to close in on nothing.” John groaned at the graphic description of his stretched arsehole. He whimpered when he felt Sherlock probing his loose hole with a single finger, pushing the warm, wet lube around. “I want to fuck you.”

“Fuck, yes. If you don’t do it right now, we’re going to have problems, you and I.”

John watched the intensity in Sherlock’s eyes flare and he could literally and figuratively see fire in them, desire burning hot and bright like a star and John felt that he had already flown too close. He was quickly falling to the surface, helpless and weak, knowing that Sherlock would own him.

Sherlock rubbed himself along the crease of John’s arse teasingly. It was brutal. Each swipe of the smooth, wet tip of his cock across John’s puckered, open hole drove him mad with want. He heard Sherlock sigh happily as he felt the head of his cock slide into him. The burning stretch was new but not unwanted, and he moaned loudly in approval, wiggling his hips to encourage Sherlock to thrust in deeper, but his flat mate took his time, moving what felt like one millimeter at a time to John.

Tiny thrusts urged his cock deeper each time and when Sherlock was fully seated in John, he bent to press a loving kiss to his gasping lips. He made an experimental thrust mid-kiss, which left him beaming internally as the doctor parted his lips, momentarily frozen and immobile. It only made John dive back into the kiss ten times harder and Sherlock began to slowly thrust while kissing him like crazy.

The tightness around him was almost indescribably soft; the closest thing that Sherlock could think of was hot velvet. He knew that John’s body temperature matched his own but being inside him felt _so_ much hotter. It was addictive and he pressed in again with a bit more force wanting to be in John, wanting to be a part of him. He buried his head into the crook of John’s neck, sucking and biting the flesh there. He felt John’s hands on him, wound tightly in his hair to hold him close.

When a particular thrust hit his prostate _just_ right, John nearly screamed. “Sherlock!”

“I know,” he growled in response, thrusting a bit faster now. He wanted to hit that spot over and over and over again until John saw stars, saw flashing colors, saw nothing. He doubted that either of them would last much longer at this pace but he pounded into him anyway. He felt John’s legs wrap tightly around him to pull him in deeper each time, which until it had happened, he thought that he was as deep as he could get. _God damn_ , there was so much he wanted to know about John. Though they had been living together for close to a year, this was the beginning.

Their beginning started with their end. John whispered hoarsely in Sherlock’s ear, his voice sounding strained and wild. “Come with me, Sherlock. Please.” He lifted Sherlock’s head away from his neck and stared deeply into his eyes with intent, and love. “Come inside me Sherlock, I need to feel you.”

Sherlock thrust harder and faster, desperate for their release which came almost immediately after the change in pace. It started with John tensing up, his back arched and his toes curled. His breath puffed out in short, panting gasps, his lungs barely emptying at each exhale resulting in a tight build-up of air in his lungs, which rushed out of him as his second orgasm of the night completely rocked him.

Thick, white spurts of cum splashed onto their bellies in between them as he shuddered violently, each thrust from Sherlock milking him dry. He should’ve felt embarrassed that he had come twice in one evening without a hand on his cock at all, but it was only a passing thought, his mind now occupied with Sherlock’s face in his own orgasm.

Sherlock hadn’t been able to resist the tight squeeze of John’s arse as he was coming. It was almost impossible to continue thrusting as the rings of muscle gripped him like a vice, but he tried like hell. The next he knew, he was spilling into John hotly, his hips stuttering irregularly compared to the long even thrusts he had been delivering earlier.

John moaned as an aftershock of his orgasm ran through him. He was completely and thoroughly wrecked. Sherlock was no better off, having not come in the shower his orgasm had destroyed him, leaving him collapsed next to John and panting into his neck. “I love you.” He breathed against his skin.

Well beyond being shocked by his flat mate’s sudden development of sentiment, John nodded and kissed Sherlock’s hair. “I know, Sherlock. I love you, too. I’m yours, always.” He felt Sherlock’s arms tighten around him briefly before they went slack, suggesting that his lover had fallen asleep. He slightly cursed the man for falling asleep on the floor, for he didn’t have the heart to wake him and John’s back and shoulder would not thank him in the morning.

As for that moment, his senses were heightened in his post-orgasmic state. He kept his eyes closed, encouraging sleep, but he let his mind focus on his other senses. The weight of Sherlock’s head on his shoulder and his arm across his abdomen, the tickle of his breath on his neck and his hair on his cheek, the warmth of the fire, the smell of clean skin and sweat and sex. He could taste Sherlock on his lips, heady and spicy, and he was surprisingly not ashamed of feeling the proof of Sherlock’s orgasm dripping from him. He wasn't disgusted in the slightest, he was thrilled. John Watson couldn’t be any happier than he was in that moment, lying on the floor with the love of his life, the wonderful, brilliant, maddening Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, loves. Leave me some love. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://konfessor2u.tumblr.com/)


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